Maybe It Was Just The Wind
by BiteTheNextLeft
Summary: My take on the scene from "The Empty Hearse" when Sherlock confronts Molly about his thankfulness for what she's done for him. Oneshot. Sherlolly.


**A/N: Hey you guys! I'm still working on How to Change Your Mind, so don't worry too much. After seeing The Empty Hearse, this beautiful scene between Molly and Sherlock really stuck with me, as I'm sure it did for a lot of you. Warning, this DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE EMPTY HEARSE! There's no huge plot line revelation, but all of the dialogue is taken directly from the episode. Everything else is just a little tweaked by me:) With that being said, BBC owns all the characters, the dialogue, and my soul. Hope I didn't butcher this scene completely! Enjoy! **

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" he murmurs in response. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns to face Molly coming down behind him. She's slowed her descent considerably.

"What was today about?" He notes the hesitancy in her voice. He wastes no time.

"Saying thank you."

"For what?" She continues downward, still somewhat timidly.

"Everything you did for me." Sherlock almost finds it difficult to believe that Molly asks this question in particular, as if he could possibly be referring to something else. This uncomfortably serves to remind him of how insignificant she thinks herself. His behavior toward her in the past obviously didn't help to promote her self-confidence, though he was only pointedly rude to her _occasionally_.

"S'okay, it's my pleasure." She's now moving in front of him, barely grazing against him to slide by. Time seems to slow down drastically in this moment, and without permission, Sherlock's body catches a secret breath at Molly's proximity. His clothes lightly shift as a result of her brushing against them ever so slightly. The movement of his clothing against the skin generates an odd sort of friction that causes a feeling akin to sparking electricity to settle in his gut. He feels the oncoming desire to prolong the sudden intrusion of space, but he realizes that this is an illogical option. So he commands his body to stiffen slightly so as to combat the unexpected wish. He thinks somewhere in his mind that Molly moving past him is some sort of evasion tactic, but the thought is too hazy and far away to pay it full attention. But she's successfully moved passed him now, and time returns to its normal pace.

"No," Sherlock responds to Molly's earlier generic and comfortable answer. She wants to blow this off as any old thing, but he's just not going to allow it this time. "I mean it," he says almost sternly. Molly stops to look at Sherlock.

"I don't mean pleasure, I mean I don't mind, I wanted to." Perhaps it's the new feeling of electricity buzzing secretly in his stomach, but he must have her understand how much she means. How much she's always meant.

"Moriarty slipped up, he made a mistake." His statement almost drowns out the last part of Molly's sentence. Sherlock pauses. But now that he's started, he has to finish. His voice comes out a little lower now. "Because the one person who he thought didn't matter at all to me… was the one person who mattered the most. You made it all possible." Molly stares at him with her lips slightly parted as if something were to come out of her mouth at any moment. His eyes fall downward. "But you can't do this again, can you?" Sherlock looks back up at her, attempting to not appear expectant. Her face twists up into some form of emotion he can't quite identify.

"I had a lovely day," she says, and it sounds like it takes a specific type of effort to make it come out. A sad little smile splays across her face. "It's just, I umm-"

"Congratulations, by the way." His eyes instantly find her engagement ring, like they've done over a dozen times today. A small twist in his stomach almost makes him regret mentioning it. She stares down at her ring with a small open smile as if trying to remember what she's going to say next.

"He's not from work," she responds with the shadow of the smile still on her face. Sherlock's mouth twists up into a grin, and he feels it reach his eyes.

"We met through friends. The old fashioned way. He's nice. He's got a dog, we go to the pub on weekends, I've met his mum and dad, and his… friends and all his family, I have no idea why I'm telling you all this-"

"I hope you'll be very happy… Molly Hooper. You deserve it." Sherlock stares at her for a moment, wanting his words to sink in despite the jerking sensation in his chest. "After all," he adds more lightheartedly, "not all the men you fall for turn out to be sociopaths. No." He only realizes with slight chagrin he was speaking of himself after he says it.

Now, he looks at her. His eyes have been on her throughout their conversation, but now that he's said all he can think of for the moment, he's left to really look at her. Sherlock notes how brave she's become, how much her confidence has grown. He sees in her eyes how hard she works to help him, and do the best she can in every situation he ends up throwing at her. Really, she'd do anything for him. Helping him fake his death when she had every reason not to displays this fact quite beautifully. And now he really knows... Molly Hooper would always do anything for him.

Before he can react, Sherlock's features are softening and his heart is swelling with enough force to crack a rib bone. Instinctively, he steps toward her. The familiar experience of being this close to her from earlier moments crashes over him in electrifying waves as the feeling spreads from his gut to the tips of his limbs.

Briefly, he remembers all the ways that Molly Hooper would look at him… especially when she thought he couldn't see. The importance and relevance of her adoring stare usually escaped him and was somewhat of a mystery to him until this very moment.

Through his memories, Molly stares at him with that silly little grin, and _finally_, he _feels_ it; what she's always wanted him to feel when she looks at him in that way: like he is cared about and longed for desperately; all he has to do is ask, and it's done for him…

Anything, done for him in a heartbeat. That's what she's always wanted him to understand.

Sherlock's heart surges forward, and he allows his eyes to grow fond, swimming with a thousand unsaid words. His lips are turning up into an unrepressed grin, and he feels it reach his eyes in a way it never has before. And finally, after all this time, Sherlock Holmes looks at Molly Hooper in the way that she's always looked at him. Even if it's only for a brief second, time is nothing to him in this moment.

He leans forward determinedly and lays a gentle kiss against her cheek. In reality, he lingers for only a millisecond, but it feels as if it were an age to him. He revels in the heat radiating from her obvious blush and the delicate skin of her cheek is far more inviting than it should be. She smells fresh and soft, like warm laundry on a frosty day similar to the one they're having, and it sends tendrils of heat down his frozen spine. Sherlock's heart feels fit to burst, and he longs to feel every essence of her warm soul wrapped around him. He doesn't look it, but dear god, he's so cold…

When he pulls away, he feels like he's stepped into the middle of a blizzard. Frozen, again. He turns and exits the building, leaving Molly to her own thoughts. As snow flurries dance about him, he thinks he almost hears Molly say something.

_"Maybe it's just my type."_

But he can't be sure over the sound of the outside world roaring around him.

Maybe it was just the wind.


End file.
